


One-Two-Three-Four

by mynameisnemo



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Hypervigilance, Mortis (Star Wars), Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Post-Mortis Arc, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, all the hurt is canon, this fic is the comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25413922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnemo/pseuds/mynameisnemo
Summary: It takes a long time, just the two of them resting in silence as she keeps up the steady rhythm of carding through his hair to the beat she knows so well.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Comments: 5
Kudos: 98





	One-Two-Three-Four

**Author's Note:**

> [kota](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigye) and [mark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/markiafc/pseuds/markiafc) dropped me headfirst into The Clone Wars fandom and made me have a lot of messy feelings. And then we watched the Mortis arc which led to me being deeply upset and feeling like Obi-Wan needs a hug. So I gave him one.
> 
> As a favour to the author, I am unspoiled for the rest of The Clone Wars canon post-Mortis and would appreciate any spoilers be kept out of comments. Thanks!
> 
> Unbeta'd, we die like clankers.

Satine’s waiting at the arrivals dock when his ship comes in.

He hadn’t asked her to be but she had received a private message letting her know the date and time of their landing. Not from Obi-Wan. Never from Obi-Wan, because Force forbid that he actually ask for help. 

No, this had been from a man she doesn’t know well, who hadn’t been there when they were young, but who she has gotten to know a little bit in the time since she and Obi-Wan had reconnected. The one man, she thinks, that Obi-Wan might trust more than any other, at least with the more personal aspects of his life. 

So on the request of Commander Cody she was at the arrival dock when their ship came in. Not on a diplomatic ship either, but rather a commercial transport. She stood to the side, almost incognito in casual clothing, only a pair of bodyguards posted discreetly near her, watching as the passengers disembarked. And among this throng of diverse lifeforms she spotted him. He was also dressed almost casually, no armour, the hood of his cloak down but keeping the rest of it drawn around him to hide his lightsaber. 

Satine sucks her breath in between her teeth. Even from this far away she can tell that Obi-Wan looks beaten. His face is drawn, deep dark circles beneath his eyes, and his cheekbones, the cheekbones that she loves and sometimes even envies, stand out stark in his face. 

There is another man with him, this one of Mandolorian descent, she can tell from his looks. He looks more at home here than Obi-Wan does, despite the fact that Mandalore has never been his home. He’s also dressed casually and Satine has to blink to recognise him without his signature yellow edged body armour. He looks around as he descends the ramp of their transport until he meets her eyes and then starts herding Obi-Wan in her direction. 

“-the custom’s check-in is in the other direction and-” 

Obi-Wan cuts off his complaints at Commander Cody as he catches sight of her, shooting a dark look over at the clone as he does before he steps forward into her space, picking up her hand and brushing a kiss over the back of it. “My dear, you didn’t have to come greet us, I know the way to The Palace by heart, I wouldn’t get lost.”

In his current state, Satine isn’t so sure, though she knows that the commander would have seen him to her safely. But she doesn’t tell him that. “It’s a beautiful day for a walk and I needed to get away from secretaries bearing paperwork, this was a lovely excuse.”

He gives a weak smile and she sweeps her gaze over him again. He looks so _tired_ and she can tell that her unexpected presence on the platform is throwing him off his usual unshakeable equilibrium. She doesn’t know what’s brought him to her in such a state but she knows it must have been something more than the horrors he sees regularly in the course of this unforgiving war. 

Neither of them mention that in the eco-domes of Mandalore the weather is always lovely. 

“Come,” she says, as the silence draws out and she can tell that he doesn’t know what to say next. “I’ve ordered a late lunch to my apartment here.” She turns, sliding her hand around his elbow as she does so that he can’t step away. 

“The custom’s check-in-” he resists, but it’s weak and she can tell he knows it. 

“I’ll vouch for you,” she reassures as she leads him through the diplomatic exit, nodding to the guard there and aware that behind them her two guards and his commander have fallen into step a respectful distance away. “Unless you’re smuggling an invasive species in again?” 

He splutters and she laughs, drawing him in closer to her as she feels him relax just a bit into his indignation. 

She leads the way to her private quarters, their collective protective detail discreetly peeling off in the direction of the guard canteen once they are inside the relatively secure confines of the diplomatic housing block. She sees him take note of it, the way his hypervigilance kicks up a notch and he pushes the edge of his cloak back with a circumspect brush, his hand ready to go for his lightsaber. She spares a moment of regret that she hadn’t requested that they accompanied them all the way to her door but calling them back would seem as if she believed there was a threat and just push Obi further into a defensive headspace. 

So she just continues to lead him to her door, making sure that her countenance is serene, her steps measured, her grip on his arm light and gentle. No matter that she wants to take his hand and drag him there at a full run until she can close and lock the door and the world and the galaxy and all of their combined concerns behind them. 

Once they are there she releases him with a small push towards the blanket on the floor where the server droids have laid a light meal out at her request. It’s simple fare, she hadn’t wanted anything too formal, nor anything that might be too heavy for him, and she’s glad of the foresight now. Obi-Wan is so often just at the edge of what his body can tolerate, pushing himself to the extremes in the name of duty, of honour, of balance, and she can tell that right now he’s been pushed far past that point. The hollowness of his cheeks tells her that he’s been too long without a good meal and anything too rich or complicated would just mean a plate barely touched, only moved around to look like it had been disturbed while he was busy watching for the next threat. 

Is that hollowness from a long battle with not enough resources or time to rest? Is it from grief? Has yet another loss befallen him? Or is it simply stress and feeling as though he can’t take a break even when one presents itself? 

No matter. If he has time to take a personal trip to see her then she has time to rectify things, to give him the space to reach that balance that is all important to him. 

She sits down next to him, stacking the plates to one side and pulling the serving dishes closer so that she can simply take a piece of the flatbread and use it to scoop up a bite of stew. It’s bland to her taste but she had requested that the kitchen droids tone down the spices in the interest of keeping the meal welcoming to Obi-Wan. 

Even with everything she’s done to make things calm and inviting she can tell it still takes him a moment to shake off his need to stand watch, to simply sit beside her and tear away his own piece of bread. 

She keeps her small smile in place, not letting the way she can feel her heartbreaking show. This is a ritual they had done dozens of times before, when they were young. With nothing but ration bread and stew made in the single pot they had among their supplies, sitting pressed side by side on a blanket in a cave or the forest or whatever other small safe place they had managed to find to take a breather. But he had never hesitated then. Then he had always fallen to with the appreciation of a youthful appetite and the knowledge that neither of them knew where their next meal might come from or when. 

But now even though he is hungry he hesitates. 

And not just for the food, she notices in the way he holds himself stiffly apart from her. He hesitates in asking for love, for touch, even just for something as simple as comfort. Something that he could have from her or even from other people, people who love him unconditionally, if he would but ask for it.

But she knows how to lure a hurt animal to her and luring a battle-fatigued Obi-Wan isn’t so different. So she eats in silence and makes sure that he eats along with her, bite for bite. Sees the way that the familiarity of it lulls him into being just a little more relaxed, until he’s no longer coiled like a spring ready to release at the slightest movement, the slightest sound. 

Until his posture slouches and each trip of his hand to the pot takes longer and longer from a combination of being sated and fatigued. 

Eventually he slows to a stop and she pushes the pots away, covering them back up with their lids and placing them off to the side. 

She turns back to him and reaches out to undo the ties that hold his cloak closed at his throat and feels him stiffen under her touch, one hand coming up to grasp her wrist.

“Satine, I-” he says, his voice sounding scraped raw in the quiet of her apartment. “I’m not sure-” 

“Shhhh,” she soothes, reaching with her other hand to brush over his forehead. “I‘m not ready for that either. I just want you to be more comfortable.”

A pause as he hesitates and she breathes slowly into the space between them, hoping that he’ll accept this from her, accept some modicum of solace from the worries that plague him. 

And eventually her waiting pays off as his loose grip releases, his hand falling back to his lap while she goes to work on the clasp, pushing the cloak off his shoulders when it’s released. She draws back and gestures to his side. “And your belt?” 

She knows that in his current state one move towards his lightsaber will snap him out of this calm space she has drawn around them both, hopes that her suggestion won’t do the same. She breathes a sigh of relief when he just follows her suggestion and undoes his belt himself, fumbling at the latch a bit with hands that seem clumsy with exhaustion. He puts it to the side, close enough that he’ll barely have to grasp for the weapon that she’s never seen out of his reach but with that it’s as though he has let go of everything that was holding him upright. She reaches out and pulls him to her, guiding him to rest his weary head on her thigh. 

He goes without resistance, shuddering as she brushes her fingers through his hair. It takes a few passes of her nails gently over his scalp before he gathers himself once more to put up a fight. 

“I suppose I should tell you what’s brought me here,” he starts before she shushes him again. 

“You can tell me later,” she murmurs, keeping up the motion. No matter that she wants to know what he has to tell her. No matter that she can feel the curiousity burning within her, and the worry that it must be something terrible for him to seek her out. She hopes that everyone she knows is okay, uninjured and alive and healthy. She hopes it’s not another death that he has to carry, or another betrayal. That whatever it is won’t leave him with another scar on his psyche, even though she know that hope is probably in vain. “For now, just rest Obi. Nothing else is happening, nothing requires your attention. Just rest.” 

It takes a long time, just the two of them resting in silence as she keeps up the steady rhythm of carding through his hair to the beat she knows so well. 

One-two-three-four-rest-one-two-three-four-rest until he begins to fall into the meditative breathing that comes natural to him. Until the last vestiges of tension fall from his body and he brings an arm to curl around her waist, pressing his nose close into her hip and he finally relaxes into a trance. 

She knows better than to hope that he’ll sleep. Sleep might not be so restful as a trance at this point, she’s sure his nights are filled with memories. But here, for now, he might be able to stand down for a few moments from his soldier’s watch. He might be able to escape from the worry that plagues his every moment here within the circle of her embrace. 

Later she’ll lie down and pull him to rest upon her breast on this blanket on the ground, knowing that even just the act of moving to the bed will bring him to full alert again and they have so little time. His Commander Cody had advised her that he had given himself only a day with her in the aftermath of whatever had brought him to her door in such a state. So tomorrow morning she’ll feed him again, listen to his worries if he’ll tell them to her, remind him that touch can be gentle, can be soothing, can be lasting even in friendship without all of the romantic entanglements of their past. And then she’ll release him to his unending duty and hope against hope that the force or the fates or whatever future awaits them will guide him back to her arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. <3


End file.
